


toward the morning sun

by magicandlight



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Gen, Trans Male Character, Transitioning, set in the 13th century but that's not that important, soft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-20
Updated: 2020-03-20
Packaged: 2021-02-28 21:40:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,143
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23234128
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/magicandlight/pseuds/magicandlight
Summary: France would like to say he’s a good big brother all the time, but frankly, there's a nation with abominations as eyebrows to his north that is proof that he isn't.Plus, Andorra isn't really his problem, she's Spain’s.It's just that France can hear her crying when he passes her room on the way back to his own.
Relationships: Andorra & Spain (Hetalia), France & Spain (Hetalia)
Comments: 1
Kudos: 18





	toward the morning sun

France would like to say he’s a good big brother all the time, but frankly, there's a nation with abominations as eyebrows to his north that is proof that he isn't. 

(Not that England had ever really considered France a brother, no, he'd just bit France bloody and then said he already had enough brothers, and then France had tried to throw him in the channel.)

Plus, Andorra isn't really his problem, she's Antonio’s. France doesn’t understand, really, why Antonio had decided to drag his sister along for a wedding, but he supposes all nations have to begin learning about the affairs of their countries and neighbors at some point. 

It's just that France can hear her crying when he passes her room on the way back to his own. 

France makes it halfway down the hall before he turns back. 

⚜

Andorra lets him in when he knocks, scrubbing at the tears on her face. 

“Oh, ma chérie, what’s wrong?” He pets her hair the same way he does Camille’s when she’s upset, hums the lullabies he sings to his princes and princesses. Andorra just cries harder.

It takes a long time for the sobs to peter out, slowing to sniffles against his shoulder.

“I don't want to be a girl,” Andorra says.

(France also wouldn't want to be a female at this particular point in time. All women get are prettier fashion and the ability to have multiple-)

“I'm  _ not _ a girl, França. Do you _ understand _ ?”

_ Ah. Like Egypt _ , France thinks.  _ Andorra is like Egypt and Switzerland and that one little nation Gilbert had told him about- _

“Yes, yes, of course, I understand, ma- mon chérie.”

_ Who was it- _

“ _ Bosnia! That's it! _ ” France mutters to himself, pleased he remembered. 

Andorra is looking at him like he's crazy, though a bit of fear remains on their face. 

France ignores this. This is a problem he can solve, after all. “Alright! So, you need a haircut?”

He grabs Andorra’s braids, examining them. “Perhaps to your shoulders?”

“Like João?”

France hummed, thinking about Portugal’s hair length. “Yes, I suppose.” 

He measures Andorra’s shoulders against his forearm, squinting at his waist to try and guess at the size. Well, he guesses he might have a few things that could work.

“You stay here while I go get supplies.”

“Will- will you get Antonio?”

France pauses at the door. “Yes, of course.”

⚜

François is carrying a basket of everything he thought they would need, hurrying through the darkened halls of the palace. 

He knocks on the door very softly, knowing it is enough to wake Antonio. 

Empires sleep lightly, after all. 

Antonio is sleep ruffled when he finally opens the door, hair sticking up in multiple directions and marks on his cheek from the pillow. “¿Qué?”

“Andorra asked for you.”

Antonio goes dangerously still all at once. “And what, pray tell, were  _ you _ doing with Margarita in the middle of the night?”

Andorra’s human name throws him for a second, but when he understands the accusation, François scowls at him. “Andorra is a  _ child _ .”

“Margarita is four and ten in human years and only a century or two younger than us.” Antonio counters, but his posture relaxes. “What were you doing with her, then?”

Again, with the name. He’ll suppose Andorra will have a new one soon. François shrugs, shifting the basket. “I heard them crying.”

Antonio’s eyes drop to it. “What is that?”

François smiles. “I believe it’s time for a bit of a transformation.”

God bless Antonio because he understands immediately. He might have trouble reading the atmosphere, but he’s no idiot. He steps into the hallway, closing the door behind him. “Well, I guess it would be nice to have a brother that isn’t a complete bastard.”

⚜

Andorra does not look in the mirror while France cuts his hair. 

Pretty chocolate-colored curls fall to the floor, and with every lock of hair that falls, Andorra’s shoulders lose the tension in them. 

Spain frowns at some of the clothes France had brought, leaving and coming back with a handful of his own clothing to add to it. Then he leaves and comes back with a bottle of wine he must have nicked from the kitchen. They drink it straight from the bottle.

“Shame Gilbert isn’t here, he’s a much better tailor than either of us,” Spain muses, getting in France’s way when he tries to hold a shirt up to Andorra’s chest. "He could have altered this easily."

France bats him away irritatedly, snipping another lock of her hair off and squinting at the results. 

He nods, then yanks the ribbon from his own hair to tie Andorra’s hair back. 

“That’s settled,” France says decisively, and Andorra’s hands come up to touch his hair. 

“We can probably find you a good corset,” France explains as Andorra joins Spain in going through the clothes. “I believe it is what S-” he coughs, cutting himself off before he gives away the secrets of another nation. “A nation in a similar predicament does. If you lace the top and leave the waist loose, it should give you the silhouette you desire.”

“How much does your court tailor gossip?” Spain asks, taking the bottle of wine from Andorra to take a swig. 

France smiles. “He knows when to keep his mouth shut.”

Spain sends him a look, and France nods, both of them knowing the tailor will be handsomely bribed for this. 

“You can avoid your government until a new king takes the throne,” Spain offers as a solution to the other unspoken problems. “Or I can tell them that occasionally this happens with our kind, the switching of sexes. They won’t question it, they don’t understand us.”

“What about Portugal?” Andorra asks softly, voice as thin as a violin string and just as tense. “What will we tell him?”

Spain leans his head against Andorra’s for a second, a moment of gentleness France is possibly not supposed to witness. “He’ll understand.”

Nations are often more understanding than the people they represent. There is little they have not seen before, when it comes to human behavior. France has known a few humans like Andorra, and no doubt Spain and Portugal have as well.

France focuses on sweeping Andorra’s hair into a pile, opening the window to toss it out. Idly, he hopes some birds find it and use it for their nests. 

When he is done, he collapses on the couch beside the other two, stealing the wine from Spain, humming in approval at the vintage. 

“We can burn your dresses,” Spain says suddenly, and Andorra, for the first time that night, smiles. 

Andorra nods, looking towards the window France had left open. “The sun is rising.”

If Andorra mutters a new name at the dawning of a new day, they are the only ones there to hear it. 

**Author's Note:**

> This is loosely set at the time of Joan I of Navarre's wedding to Philip IV of France in 1284, only a few years after Andorra's charter was created in 1278.
> 
> Andorra's human name, although not mentioned here, is Carles. This is the Catalan version of Charles/Carlos. Andorra named themself after Charlemagne (Charles the Great) because of the part he played in Andorra's history.


End file.
